Beyond God
by Banana Rum
Summary: Winry arranges to share a casual cup of tea with Hawkeye.  Of course, with a funeral serving as backdrop and a decade’s worth of catching up to do, the conversation is anything but.  [WARNING: multiple character deaths]


**Beyond God**  
_Fullmetal Alchemist fan fiction_

**Genre:** gen, introspective/angst, character study  
**Rating:** PG (K+)  
**Word Count: **1,100 or so  
**Summary:** Winry arranges to share a casual cup of tea with Hawkeye. Of course, with a funeral serving as backdrop and a decade's worth of catching up to do, the conversation is anything but.

**Notes:** Written for EvilKat in the July-August session of FMA Exchange on LiveJournal. The prompt was (in essence) "Winry and Hawkeye interaction, centered around the Elric Brothers". Stylistically, this was somewhat inspired by "A Rose for Emily" by William Faulkner.

--

She is a little girl.

She is a little girl who knows about screws and wires and ripe apples and the hot breath of grass in summer. She is a self-styled expert on mud puddles (she knows that scrawny neighbor boys do not enjoy being pushed into them, nor do they expect a _girl_ of all things to be the perpetrator).

And she is a little girl who knows that people die. That lately people were dying because there are other people out there, killing for the State and not knowing why; simply believing that it is the right thing, because that's what the State said, and the State _never_ lies when it comes to the lives of the tax-paying public. …Or so Granny said, mostly to herself and not at all because Winry had ever asked.

One of these people (these believing people) is Miss Hawkeye, who came to take away her scrawny neighbor boy and his brother (who overnight was not so scrawny, nor so much her neighbor. His home is burned, and his soul is housed in armor.).

Miss Hawkeye is taking them away from her, just as sure as the State and its killing and its war took away her parents. …And yet, Miss Hawkeye is giving them life again. She is giving them a second chance. And as much as Winry absolutely cannot trust the military man Miss Hawkeye brings with her, Winry _can_ trust Miss Hawkeye.

Then the door slammed shut and Granny told her Miss Hawkeye was only a Second Lieutenant, and to stop looking at her like she was some sort of magic act.

'God' would suit Miss Hawkeye better, Winry concedes to her diary.

Winry still believes this, even now that she is no longer a little girl and no longer (more than a little) ignorant.

She does not think Miss Hawkeye is God, or capable of miracles, of immortality. She does not _believe _in God, His Holiness. Rather, she sees God in people and their actions. She sees God in young women who raise the children of their deceased brothers (better known as the State's deceased 'heroes', of course), in children who help their neighbor up when he falls into the mud, in Lieutenants who believe in something hard and true (who protect something because it's all they have, it's all they'll ever need).

People better than her.

Which is not to say that she does not strive towards her own piece of godliness – she does. It is what she's been after all these years. (Of course, this is not what she tells Miss Hawkeye in her letter. She says she will be in Central for the funeral anyway, so why not pause to chat a bit? For old time's sake.)

They meet in a busy café in the heart of downtown Central, just past the florist's on Second Street; it is a rendezvous far less surreptitious than Winry imagined. Miss Hawkeye is out of uniform, instead garbed in a black, long-sleeved blouse and a loosely-pleated skirt (dark, but not quite black. Apparently Miss Hawkeye has never been to a civilian funeral.) that brushes just past her knees.

"You're coming?" Winry inquires, and it feels like she is asking Miss Hawkeye to a party. "I had no idea you were so close."

"We met occasionally in passing," says Miss Hawkeye. "Our relationship was purely professional. I imagine you might be offended, being the family of the deceased."

Winry is stunned by the woman's stiff cordiality, but she does not see why she should be offended by Miss Hawkeye's attendance at the funeral.

"Death tends to bring people closer together." Winry smiles. She has a gift for seeing the best in people.

--

Hawkeye has a gift for seeing the worst in people.

And in Winry, she sees a lost girl searching. Searching for what, she cannot tell, but when asked what she would like to drink, Winry said, "Whichever you'd prefer, thanks" and when Hawkeye inquires as to which seat she would prefer – sun or shade – Winry is similarly indecisive.

The complaisance is bothersome.

How is this young woman going to take control when she doesn't even know if she prefers tea or milk?

And yet, Hawkeye loves this girl. There is no ire in her form when she serves tea to the both of them, guides Winry to the chair beneath the trellis – the one with wisteria draped across it.

(It is Hawkeye's favorite place.)

"How is Edward's automail holding up? I mean, I'm assuming you and Mr. Mustang were the last to see him," Winry asks.

"Edward withdrew his services from the military some time ago, so I've not seen him more than a few times in the last year. But I hear it's holding very well. After all this time, damage to his nerves and tissue remains minimal. You should be proud." Hawkeye is trying not to sound like an automated message, and failing.

Winry shrugs. "It was mostly Granny's handiwork. She left a legacy behind. I wish she'd told me her secrets before she passed away. And a lot of other things, too, of course; it's just that I – and… Er."

Hawkeye nods, as though to signify understanding. (It would be a lie.)

"Well, it's been a while since we, um, talked, and… I guess I just wanted to say thank you for giving Ed and Al another chance, and for staying behind them, no matter what kind of hell they raised. This is going to sound silly, but when I was little I thought you were some sort of miracle goddess."

And she is still that little girl; Hawkeye is well aware of Winry's silent (yet unmistakable) awe. In that moment, Hawkeye wants to hug that little girl, share stories like old sisters and voice a closeness that

_(she is only imagining)_

– has never been proven.

But that is hardly characteristic of Winry's 'Miss Hawkeye', and she does not want to be full of surprises. It is not what Winry needs.

Winry is still talking, and Hawkeye hopes the girl hasn't noticed her lack of attentiveness. "Given our track record, I guess this is the last I'll be seeing of you for a while. But I wanted to ask you one last question, if you don't mind."

_(And it is not what Hawkeye wants, but)_ she nods anyway.

"Have you ever seen your best friend die?" Winry's jaw and throat are tight; her eyes seem darker when she is blinking so urgently.

"Not yet." And Hawkeye thinks maybe this is the wrong answer.

She can see disenchantment cast a pall over Winry's mouth, her shoulders, her hands (which shake when she sets her empty cup onto the saucer). But this is moving on, and perhaps it is exactly what Miss Rockbell needs. Perhaps she sees a path now – sees beyond the God she fashioned in Hawkeye.

And perhaps not.

Perhaps all she sees is a six-foot trench, with her greatest God buried inside. (Truly, his automail held up well. The rot where skin meets metal spans only a few inches.)

_fin_

**Explanation**, since the people I ran it by prior to posting seemed confused: Readers are supposed to assume that Winry and Hawkeye are attending Pinako's funeral. Then, at the end, I meant for readers to see that it was actually _Ed's_ funeral, think "Oh, holy SHIT!" and scroll back up to re-read Winry and Hawkeye's conversation to see that, yes, that _did_ fit.

But given the response I've received thus far, that didn't work out so well. D: If you have any ideas as to how I can fix that, I will be eternally grateful if you tell me!

As always, constructive criticism is applauded and will be put to good use!


End file.
